


One Answer

by Shinocchi



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Bittersweet, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Finger Sucking, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Riding, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 13:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10336106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinocchi/pseuds/Shinocchi
Summary: He'd never seen Aoba as any different -- sure, he could be reckless at times, perfectly normal sometimes, but at the end of the day, Aoba is still Aoba and he'd never see him otherwise.But when one enduring question isn't answered, Mizuki finds himself pondering of the possibilities, until opportunities give him the answer, something that he very much expected, yet conflicted.Post-Morphine Route. Porn with little plot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Mizuki! Oh dear, I'm so terribly late, but better late than never, right? ;)  
> So this is the first ever Mizuki/Aoba smut I've written and also sort of like a plot-fill to what happened to them after Morphine route. Initially, this was supposed to be nothing more than a 2k-word one-shot but before I know it, Aoba had advanced towards Mizuki and the rest is history :p
> 
> Please stay happy, both! Hope Mizuki had many peaches during his birthday haha!
> 
> Lastly, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :3

He never knew how it felt like to feel belonged. The first time he’d hit a kid, the rebellious label was crowned upon him. He’d been called wrong, that everything was wrong with him. He didn’t mean to be malicious; he never thought that he could ever cause any casualties towards another person. He simply wanted to be able to play with the other kids, to be able to laugh with them – laugh at their jokes, had them laughing at his jokes – but those were wishes that were too unattainable for him. He wasn’t like the other kids: he didn’t have their skin tone, didn’t have parents who’d pick him up from school like the others did, didn’t have whatever he needed to be part of them.

He was discriminated before he knew what discrimination was. Yet, he tried. He tried as hard as he could to fit in, to adapt to what was supposed to be _right_. He wanted to be normal for once, to know how it felt to be loved for once, and to know how it felt to have someone patting him on the head, telling him that he’d done a good job – just like any other child would ask for.

But across the years, with the many torments and injustice and unfairness that he’d come to encounter, he knew that nothing would ever work in his favour anyway. He was born as such – as being _different_ – and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t change who he was; adapting was impossible, being one of the _normal_ people around him even more so. So he decided to be who he was, and along the way, perhaps he could find people who were like him – different, rebellious, _unwanted_.

And then, if he was to find them, he would take them in. He would take _all of them_ in, bringing them under his wings, protecting them, telling them that there would still be a place where they could call home and that it’s perfectly fine if they didn’t want to be part of what social norms deemed to be normal.

He’d make them feel normal, wanted, and he’d be their _family_ , for as long as they need.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything that had happened in Oval Tower lingered like a dream to him. His memory wasn’t the most reliable and he was sure that he’d done things that were a lot crueller than the ones he remembered. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that he couldn’t remember absolutely all of them. He wasn’t sure if he was able to forgive himself if he did. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be prepared to remember them if he was given a chance to. But despite the piecemeal memory, there was one certain thing that he would never forget: the crushing sensation _Aoba_ had made him feel. For some reason, everything about Aoba was everything he remembered clear as day: from the moment he salvaged him from the Old Resident District, to when they spent time being in Morphine, to the separation, then to the confession. He remembered his sardonic smirk, and he remembered all the questions Aoba would ask him, questions that’d never occurred to him. Aoba had once told him how naïve a person he was, and how he deemed Mizuki as being too much of a nice person to literally everyone he met. But what’s wrong with being a nice person? He once retorted. If he wasn’t like how he was now, he’d never pick Aoba from the gloomy alley he was sitting in, alone; he’d never come to know him better, and he’d never be who he was to him today.

Meeting Aoba was something he never regretted. Meeting Aoba changed things – himself, and everything he once thought was real.

But meeting Aoba was also what had created these ripples of uncertainty within him, breaking his composure, shattering his mind into pieces, having his emotions to go berserk like they never before.

There had been this undefinable feeling between himself and Aoba ever since the Oval Tower incident. Aoba was still like who he always was, and even if he was to set himself loose once a while, he’d come to accept both Aobas anyway. But when he ever came to encounter _the other Aoba_ again, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something different about him that he’d never noticed. He was still as sassy as usual, sure. But whenever Mizuki caught sight of him, all that he could see was a shroud of something else that he’d never realized before, having him to stare at him, dazed by his own thoughts, just to look away when Aoba caught him doing so.

He wondered if anything had changed between him and this Aoba that had led to this out-of-place feeling, something he never experienced with _this_ Aoba before ever since he acquainted him. And he wondered what exactly was the cause of it, if Aoba felt it as well, if Aoba ever planned to confront him about it, or if the confrontation would ever change anything between them, more than it already did.

 

* * *

 

 

“What is it, Aoba? Already drunk?” Mizuki hooted as he tapped hard on Aoba’s shoulder, effortlessly drawing a frown out of Aoba.

It was evident who was drinking with him -- the Aoba who slumped against his bed, tossing him sarcastic remarks every time Mizuki said something stupid was _the Aoba_ whom Mizuki had first come to know after all. It was the same Aoba whom he’d met sulking in an alley, with no friends, no family, and whom had hit him hard when Mizuki did as much as asking if he wanted to join his family.

Aoba wasn’t part of his family yet, despite them already knowing each other for the longest time. Aoba never needed one; that was what he said. And Aoba was probably already very contented with their relationship now, which was fine for Mizuki. If there wasn’t a need for change, then there was no need to force it.

“You’re the drunk one,” Aoba retorted. He picked a beer can from the nearest table he could find and drowned the alcohol down his throat, flush smeared his cheeks as he burped, his eyes glazed with moistness that had Mizuki momentarily distracted when their gaze met.

“It’s fine if you’re really drunk, though,” Mizuki chuckled, a weak attempt to hide his awkwardness. “You can stay the night if you want.”

“Heh,” Aoba lugged a smirk. He advanced towards Mizuki, cornering him against the wall and pulling their faces extremely close.

“Is that your intention? Making me drunk so that I can stay over?”

“That’s not it.” Though Mizuki couldn’t be completely honest with his statement. “I’m just saying that I don’t mind.”

This Aoba was a lot more upfront, shameless, and it’s no longer any secret that his favourite hobby was to fluster Mizuki.

He continued staring at Mizuki, as if doing a truth scan on him, then slanting against his body, their body heat – partly thanks to the alcohol – mingled with the pungent scent of beer as sweat started to form on their skin.

“Oi, Aoba…”

“Shut up,” Aoba snapped. Arms around Mizuki’s torso, he shut his eyes. His breathing laboured, his hair tickled Mizuki’s skin whenever he did as much as moving an inch.

“You’re really drunk, aren’t you?” Mizuki teased.

“En. So…” Aoba hummed. “Whatever is to happen now is because I’m drunk, alright? If that makes you feel better.”

He pretended he didn’t hear the last of Aoba’s words. But he didn’t have the time to comprehend what situation they were in now before he felt wet tongue against his neck, licking up his healing tattoo, his throat constricted from the foreign pressure. He was stunned, motions froze, brain stuck at whatever Aoba was doing to him. The skin-against-skin contact was bewilderingly tantalizing, so careful, yet the strong scent of a forbidden sense of _desire_ , hidden beneath the veiled tenderness slowly but surely threatened to throw Mizuki’s conscious out of his own mind.

“A-Aoba,” he called out, struggling, desperate to understand what was happening. Aoba looked up at him at the call of his name, golden eyes met pale green before all Mizuki could see was golden as Aoba leaned in and pecked him on the lips, provocatively nipping on the sensitive skin.

“Hey,” he whispered into Mizuki’s ear, heaty breathing smeared all over his ear shell, stars flickered in his head as he tried hard to catch his breath. “Are you a virgin?”

“W-wha—“

“You seem like one,” Aoba interrupted, sniffing as he continued. “Smell like one too.”

“Oi, Aoba—“

But Aoba was already taking his jacket off, sweat drenched his inner shirt, forming dark damps across his chest. He threw it aside, released what sounded like a small snigger, eyes fixed on Mizuki’s reaction the entire time.

This is bad, Mizuki thought. Aoba… _this_ Aoba is totally serious with what he’s about to do and if he was to dither for one lingering moment he might as well fall into the seductive trap Aoba had flawlessly set up for him.

“Hey,” Aoba whispered again, heatedly. “This is an accident, alright?”

Accident, just like last time. He still couldn’t figure out the answer to his question, he was still uncertain of how _exactly_ did Aoba feel towards him. All that he had within him was this escalating concern that if they were to take this further – if they were to cross the line – there’d be no more turning back for them. He wanted to say something – he _should_ say something – but all he could do was watch as Aoba took his own shirt off, then his pants, and finally, his boxer, leaving him completely naked. This was the first and only time Mizuki was able to take a good look at Aoba’s unclothed skin – pale, but flushed red, patches of pink flush crusted his skin, topped off with astounding glistening layer of sweat, of profound temptation that Mizuki couldn’t help but stare at him. When he finally looked away, he found Aoba’s golden pair of orbs gazing attentively at him, the dimmed surrounding they were submerged in, alongside the cold, gentle breeze pulling through the room only further intensifying the tension between the both of them.

Seeing that, Aoba merely smirked before he winched up a hand to trace a finger along Mizuki’s face, stopping on the teardrop tattoo below his eye then leaning in to kissed it again, his gesture gentle and enticing as with how he’d kissed the healing wound on his neck earlier.

“What made you get this, I wonder,” he mumbled against hot skin. “Tattoos. Why are you so fascinated with them?”

“They… are like a form of art to me,” Mizuki could only utter insouciantly, words trundled out of his mouth the moment he felt them on his tongue, with no filters whatsoever.

“Art, huh?” Aoba chuckled a tad, as if finding the idea ludicrous. “Maybe today I can show you another form of art, then.”

Mizuki didn’t even want to consider what kind of art Aoba was referring to. The Aoba he’d been habituated with couldn’t care less about this kind of thing, let alone being interested with them. While he felt Aoba’s soft pair of lips against his own again, he also felt the weight on his body lessened that was his jacket being taken off. His hands slithered captivatingly onto Aoba’s waist, holding him in place, as he returned the kiss, his hand sweating against Aoba’s smooth skin texture.

“Heh, finally feeling like it?” Aoba smirked between kisses.

Heat pooled on his cheeks upon hearing the breathless voice. He swallowed down his throat, sucking hard on Aoba’s tongue as a form to distract himself. Not long after, his torso was exposed, his skin tone a gaudy contrast with Aoba’s as Aoba whistled, scanning the whole of Mizuki’s body painstakingly.

“Not bad,” he crooned, meandering his fingers along the vigour of Mizuki’s muscles. “I guess most Rib members would have a body like yours, huh?”

“How about you?”

“Huh?”

“You…” Mizuki trailed off.

“Me?”

“Are you…” His voice stuck in his throat, his heart beating stridently in his ears. It took him a massive ounce of courage to spell the rest of his words out. “Is this your first time doing it?”

Aoba simply stared at him, his expression lingering between disbelief and amusement. As a response, he brought his finger down, heading south, where he clasped a handful of Mizuki’s dick and squeezed softly against the head.

He had to bite on his lower lip to stop himself from whimpering.

“I can’t wait to see this coming to life,” Aoba screeched, without answering Mizuki’s question. He impelled more strength into the length, gradually feeling heat gather against his palm, watching in trifling amazement as glaze started accumulating on the tip of Mizuki’s head.

“Heh,” Aoba released a small drone. Angled his body downwards, his face came close to the erection, causing Mizuki to gasp out loud when he flicked a bantering lick against the transparent liquid.

“A-Aoba, wai—Aoba?!”

And before he knew it, Aoba had popped his dick into his mouth, sucking noisily as he rolled his tongue expertly around the head of it, slurping where he could find the bitterness.

Strange voice resounded from Mizuki’s throat as he clutched onto Aoba’s hair, no longer knew if he was seeing stars or if he was hallucinating. All his sensations were collected on his dick, the compactness of it filling Aoba’s mouth as he gasped for air. Aoba was good, he was _petrifyingly good_. He knew when was the right time to stop teasing his slit, just so he wouldn’t come then and there, and he knew when was the right time to give the head a rough suck, just to dawdle his orgasm from exploding. He’d never had anyone blowing him before and the fact that _Aoba_ was doing it for him now was giving him a sort of surrealism as if he was living in a wet dream – a guilty wet dream.

“Aoba…” he panted. “It’s… I’m…”

Aoba heaved his mouth away swiftly, licking on his lips as if he was just done with a tasteful meal. He flicked a hasty allusive smirk at Mizuki’s direction, sitting up and literally straddling on his laps before Mizuki found wet tongue in his own mouth again, this time, twirling with his own tongue. Bitterness spread in his mouth, the odour of it choking his conscious. Aoba’s tongue was as quick as how he’d experienced it on his own erection earlier, and similarly, he knew exactly where to lick that would have Mizuki moaning into his mouth. Completely losing sense of himself, he could only grip steadfastly onto Aoba’s waist, hard enough to bruise.

When Aoba finally parted their breath-taking kiss, both of them were already rock-hard, dicks pressing against each other, hefty breathing filled the darkness of the room; nothing but their sheer existence mattered to them anymore.

He’d never felt this level of ecstasy in his entire life – Aoba was quick, he was an expert, he knew what he was doing, and all Mizuki could do was holding onto him, catching up with his pace as if his life depended on it.

“Hey,” Aoba whispered, clearly out of breath. “Do you really want to know if this is the first time I’m doing this?”

Shudders loped through his body, his muscles tensed out of reflex. Aoba was glowering at him as if he was some sort of prey, all ready to lurch towards him and devour him alive. His heartbeats were still loud in his ears – he wasn’t sure if he could handle Aoba now, not when he obviously had more power over at this very moment.

But Aoba didn’t seem like he was expecting an answer either. Raising two fingers, he stuck them into his own mouth, then lapping raucously on them. Droplets of saliva trickled and fell on Mizuki’s torso as he did, the cold sensation aroused goose bumps on his skin. As he stared, wide-eyed, Aoba’s gaze remained on every ounce of his response, smirking bemusedly at the overreaction. It felt like an eternity later before he released his fingers with a vulgar pop, his lips wet, his tongue a teasing flick.

“Maybe I’ll let my body tell you about it,” was all Aoba said before the very two fingers were pushed into his own hole, an action that had Mizuki gasping out loud.

“Won’t that hurt?!” he exclaimed.

“Ha…” Aoba breathed, eyes closed right, his free hand clutching hard on Mizuki’s arm. “A bit, but it’ll be fine soon.”

“But—“

“Patience,” Aoba grinned in between pants, the gaze he elevated at Mizuki next was one of half-lidded but unquestionably aroused.

“No, I don’t mean that!”

“Or do you want to do it for me?” Aoba aggravated.

“…huh?”

With a deep huff, Aoba pulled his fingers out, took Mizuki’s hand up instead, and started licking on his index and middle fingers. Mizuki was already well informed of how talented Aoba’s tongue could be but he’d once again experienced the intensity of it when that very tongue coiled around his fingers, sucking on the tip every once a while – something that he didn’t deem necessary – and when they’re drenched wet, Aoba took them out of his mouth, saliva dribbling from the corner of his lips before he budged himself closer towards Mizuki.

“Go on. It should be quite open by now, just a… ugh, a few more pushes,” Aoba said, supporting himself up at the same time so that he could guide Mizuki’s wet fingers towards his hole.

Mizuki didn’t even know what he was doing. Following Aoba’s guidance blindly, his fingers shuddered at the first touch of Aoba’s convulsing hole, utterly confounded when warmth wrapped his cold fingers, of how these very walls he was chafing against would later suck him in and devastate him in a way that he would never be able to comprehend. He got used to the peculiar sensation not soon after, thrusting his fingers in and out, his own arousal hitting the peak when simmered moans started resounding from Aoba, who was clearly stimulating himself with Mizuki’s fingers.

“E-enough,” Aoba choked. Warmth left his fingers the moment Aoba pulled them out of him, but that very same warmth soon found itself against his dick, which was already completely hard, pulsating against Aoba’s soft, perfectly prepared hole.

“One thrust,” Aoba pressed his head against Mizuki’s shoulder with a searing whisper. “Can you do it?”

“W-what?”

Aoba sat up; he looked completely dazed now, eyes steamy, looking as if he was about to pass out. With the remaining of his strength, he rolled his hole provocatively against Mizuki’s dick, pushing the tip of the erection into it and pulling it out right in the next second, all done out of purpose.

“Go on,” he urged.

He did it. At that explicit second, Mizuki clasped onto Aoba’s waist, overcame by unforeseen impulse, and thrusting right into Aoba in one pointed push.

A long moan was drawn out of Aoba the same moment Mizuki’s dick dragged all his way into the depth of him. He gript onto Mizuki’s dick the moment it was settled inside him, as if trying to crush him, the space between them trodden and unmoving. It’s hard to breathe, harder to move, but everything that was happening now made Mizuki feel as if he was accomplishing something he’d been craving for a long time, even without his knowledge. His hesitance gone, his self-restraint rumpled, he was literally grappling onto Aoba, pushing himself towards and into him before he found himself staggering to kiss him, wolfing him into a bruising kiss that had Aoba gasping for air.

The heaty atmosphere around them only made worse when Aoba proceeded to rub his cock against Mizuki’s torso, practically trying to get himself off until Mizuki grabbed onto his length, pumping _hard_ on it, almost causing Aoba to bite his own tongue as he towed himself out of the kiss, back arched, moans leaked in a strained vulgar tone. That itself seemed to have flipped a switch in Mizuki as he started thrusting harder, his shoulders ached with Aoba’s nails ploughing into his tanned skin, leaving scars.

Everything that was happening between them was stemmed out of pure instinct; something he was very much aware of. He couldn’t stop himself – it was too late to stop himself. Aoba’s moan sounded like a sweet angelic melody that was in itself acting like an effective aphrodisiac on him. His sensations seemed to have intensified even more now that he had set his inner beast loose, every part of his body movements driven by nothing but pure lust. He never knew that it was possible to feel so _good_ to be inside of someone. Was it because it’s _Aoba_ that he was feeling this way? Or was it because that this was the first time he was being so insanely attached to someone that was the reason for his loss of control? He no longer knew, he would never know the answer. All that he knew was that he could no longer stop himself – he wanted more of Aoba. _More, more, more_.

“Mizuki,” Aoba’s cracked voice trundled into his ear, taking him back from his impulse. He’d never heard someone calling his name in such a fervid manner before. He’d never heard _this_ Aoba calling him by his name before.

And it did things to him.

“If you do it like this, both of us won’t last any longer, you know? Not that I mind, anyway,” Aoba ended with a small chuckle. He swiped a finger along Mizuki’s forehead, wiping sweat off his bangs. “It’s amusing seeing someone as composed as you losing yourself in ecstasy.”

And it’s even amusing to know that he’s the reason for why Mizuki is losing control of himself.

Mizuki wasn’t sure if he was hearing Aoba correctly but in the next second, his body had done the decision for him, where he lifted Aoba up, dick still inside of him, and slumped both of them on the bed.

“Heh, changing position?” Aoba smirked. His sweat slicked back hit the bed, the scent that was Mizuki’s shampoo attacked his nose the moment he found relief on Mizuki’s mattress. He was about to indulge in this bolstering zone when he was immediately engulfed in another wet kiss.

Mizuki’s weight felt perfect on him. His skin just the right warmth, his muscles pressing just compactly right against his own skin. He wasn’t too heavy, just the right weight for Aoba to feel his heartbeats against his chest. When their eyes met, it was lust meeting lust, a sort of gaze Aoba had never seen on Mizuki before, further eliciting him as he clung his legs around Mizuki’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Don’t stop,” he plead. Mizuki pushed deeper into him in response, head buried in Aoba’s shoulder and all Aoba could do was hugging his head, giggling at the ticklish sensation of his short strands of hair against his skin, his hips moved on its own will. “Please.”

It didn’t sound like himself, and he knew instantly that it’s the other him’s influence that was turning him away from being who he could really be. It’s fine, really. Regardless of who or what would he become, everything’s fine as long as they could achieve the ultimate balance all of them sought for. But now, this very moment belonged to him and Mizuki, and not even _the other him_ could interfere with this very less time they’d left for themselves.

Mizuki could go faster, rougher; he could tear him apart from the inside even, as long as whatever he was to do could help him remember this fervour both of them were sharing at this point of time. He let his voice loose, urging Mizuki to do the same, hoping that Mizuki would remember this very voice he was emanating when they were done with each other – when they were to part ways. He bit into Mizuki’s shoulder, leaving scars, marks, pain intense enough to remind him that nothing would allow him to forget about him no matter how far apart they were to be from each other. He wished he had the power of those Morphine tattoo on Mizuki’s neck, he hoped he could leave an undying mark on and in Mizuki as how Morphine did him. There was nothing he could do to stop whatever that was to happen, the least he could manage was to leave proof of his existence when he could.

He bit Mizuki on the neck the same time when he felt an abrupt stab in his chest. He tried to memorize Mizuki’s voice, his face, the expression he’s showing him, his muscles, the lines of it, his tattoos… everything. When Mizuki raised his head to look into his face, he found himself staring in reverence, realizing how he’d never looked at Mizuki as close as he did now.

“Aoba,” Mizuki called out. Was he calling him? Or was he calling the other Aoba? Or was he calling the both of them? Did he dare to ask? Did he want to know the answer?

He decided that he didn’t. Merely returning a smirk, he bit Mizuki on his lower lip, feeling the aggressive spasm of Mizuki’s dick inside of him, and stirred his hips in a way more vicious than ever, making his intention clear as day.

“There, yes,” he moaned out loud, encouraging Mizuki, distracting himself. “I—ah, wouldn’t have believed that this is your first time having sex with someone, haha… haha…”

He didn’t know if he was really laughing or if it was simply a default reaction – a safe haven – he used to obscure his insecurity. But Mizuki fell right into his trap, like he always did. He conformed to what Aoba wanted him to do, thrusting hard into him, into places he felt the most. This is perfect: them, thinking of nothing, merely submitting to _desire_. He was losing control, white tarnished his mind, and before he knew it, he was coming hard, his muscles contracted as he shuddered from his orgasm, semen erupted out of his dick as shattered moans leaked from his lips. Mizuki came not long after, hot liquid coating the entirety of his raw insides, leaving them in a state of heavenly peak. And when everything came to an end, he fell on top of Aoba, completely exhausted, breathing short.

“Hey,” Aoba called through raucous voice. He twirled his fingers around Mizuki’s hair, playing with the short strands, appreciating the afterglow of their first, and probably last heated lovemaking.

“Hm?”

“Still alive?” he asked, almost sounding like another laugh.

“Tired,” Mizuki responded with a one-word answer.

“Don’t play old man with me,” Aoba laughed. He encircled his arms around Mizuki’s body, embracing his sturdy torso once again. “Sleep.”

They fell silent, having Aoba to assume that Mizuki had seriously taken his suggestion. But then, he felt movement from above him a few seconds later, turning around to see himself staring at a concerned looking Mizuki.

“What?” he asked.

“You haven’t answered me yet,” Mizuki said, fatigue evident in his voice.

“Answer what?” Aoba repeated.

“So…” Mizuki paused. “Are you… so is this your first time doing this?”

“Heh,” Aoba smirked. He thought he’d dropped it. “Can’t you tell?”

“I can’t,” Mizuki answered, being completely honest.

“Hmm,” Aoba trailed off. “I wonder…”

“Aoba,” Mizuki urged.

“Does it really matter, anyway?” Aoba snapped, still avoiding the question.

Mizuki looked away; he seemed troubled, like an abandoned child. Then, he leaned downwards, catching Aoba in a surprised kiss.

“You’re right,” Mizuki smiled against their lips. “No matter what the answer is, nothing will change anyway. Aoba will always be Aoba.”

Regardless if they’d part eventually, regardless if Mizuki would eventually acknowledge both of them as one, he knew that Mizuki would mean everything he said to him now.

“Of course,” he confirmed. “I’ll always be Aoba.”

Isn’t this what he always wants? he thought. To be Aoba – to be _acknowledged_ as Aoba.

But why… what is this ache he’d been feeling in his chest now? Why, for the first time in his life, does he feel this hesitance to be recognized as one? And why does the thought of wanting a separate body, one that’s a separate entity from the other persona of his, has to hit him at this very moment?

He hugged Mizuki, as if Mizuki had the answer for him, soughing for some sort of comfort, of assurance.

“You’ve toughed me a lot of things, Aoba,” Mizuki murmured, half-asleep.

“You’ll learn more about sex by yourself the next time,” Aoba teased.

“N-not only that,” Mizuki retorted. “More like… about how it’s possible to feel so much towards a person.”

His heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure if he was hearing the right thing.

“Well, Aoba’s your old friend, after all.”

“ _You_ are the Aoba I first met,” Mizuki continued. He returned Aoba’s hug with similar strength, holding him close as if he’s holding onto something extremely precious. “You’re the person I found sulking in that alley, no home, not wanting to be part of anyone, or any team.”

“Still do,” Aoba said.

“You have a home now,” Mizuki said. “Right?”

Aoba looked away, letting what Mizuki say to sink into him. Was being recognized his home then? Was that what he really wanted?

“I guess so,” he said at long last.

“You’re… different now,” Mizuki spelled out slowly. “More… reasonable, somehow?”

Aoba laughed, totally out of his own conscious. So it’s true then, that he’s slowly becoming one, becoming the real Aoba. He’d never thought that anyone in this world would call him reasonable. Soon, he might never be thinking the same way as he did now, he might have a different mind, a more _reasonable_ mind.

He’s slowly but surely losing himself – to Aoba.

“Guess that’s a good thing then,” he said, just so he could comfort himself, to convince himself that it’s all that he wanted.

“But,” Mizuki budged closer, nuzzling his nose against Aoba’s cheek. “I wouldn’t mind an unreasonable Aoba either.”

At that moment of time, it dawned upon Aoba that he’d found a home after all – a home that wasn’t physical, but one that accepted him for who he was; not as Aoba, but as Desire, the real form that was the reason for his existence.

That home was Mizuki – it had always been Mizuki.

And he was sure that Mizuki had already found his answer after all – for the question he’d asked him in the hospital, right after the Oval Tower incident.

 


End file.
